


5 Times Remus was Hurt in the First War and 1 Time It Was Sirius

by theicerecite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First War with Voldemort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Remus Lupin, Hurt Sirius Black, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Multi, Post-Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Sick Character, Sick Remus Lupin, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicerecite/pseuds/theicerecite
Summary: What it says on the tin. A first war fix-it where nobody dies, but Remus does get hurt a lot. And where the Marauders+Lily are far too young and far too full of promise to be facing such horrific circumstances—and how they do it anyway.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 272





	1. In Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclaimer: I'm not super well-versed in First War lore and tbh the plot of the war wasn't really my focus. So hopefully everything is cohesive and realistic enough to not distract from the story. Here we go!
> 
> Updates on Mondays/Tuesdays. :) Enjoy!

They are in a standoff together during the first few months of the war, back when Sirius’ stomach still drops any time he recognizes someone from his schooling days. Back when he still screams their names in his head even as he flings his curses. He and James are fighting close together, nearly back to back, and he can hear Lily and Remus shouting hexes somewhere to his left.

Peter has disappeared from sight, and Sirius is searching frantically for him when he hears his scream. He feels James stumble back and doubles down on the deatheater in front of him—a brunette former-Slytherin—before he glances towards the noise.

His heart stops when he sees Lily nearly take a hit from the killing curse while flinging herself in front of Peter, and he thanks his stars that James didn’t see. Remus and Lily have flanked Peter, who is hunched, clutching his wand arm. Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, just as he hears “ _crucio_ ” from his right. Remus has his back turned when it hits him, and he stumbles forward silently, though he doesn’t let go of his hold of Peter. “ _Crucio_ ,” the voice screams again, a pleased note in its tone, and Sirius searches desperately for where it’s coming from. He finds the slim figure just as the man screams the curse a third time, followed by “ _ava_ —.”

“ _Avada kedavra_ ,” Sirius screams, as loud as he can, hoping to drown the man’s voice out. He sees a purple light leave Lily’s wand too and their spells hit the man simultaneously. There are green flashes as he falls, but Sirius doesn’t have time to watch. James is dragging them both towards the others, and Sirius hastily regains his footing and shoots off a few curses to their right as they weave between duels.

Peter is sitting on the ground, blood streaming from his shoulder, Remus in his arms. Lily is crouched over them, casting shields charms and spells. As Sirius falls to his knees beside them, Remus is trying to sit up—“Peter, I am fine. Would you let go, the cruciatus curse doesn’t last”—but he is still pale and breathing hard.

Sirius pulls Remus to sit up with one rough hand and takes Peter’s injured arm in the other. “Peter, hold still.” He taps Peter’s arm. “ _Arretius_. That should stop up the blood some. Sit tight until we can get you to headquarters. Rem—”

“I am fine, Sirius. Honestly, it’s like you all forget that my bones reshape themselves several times a month.” Remus is getting up as he speaks, wand at the ready as his eyes flicker behind them warily, to where James stands hurling hexes. 

Sirius’ heart aches the way it always does when Remus mentions his…condition so cavalierly, but he’s grown used to it. Remus fluidly flings a hex over their heads and Sirius returns his attention to Peter.

* * *

It isn’t until they’ve retreated and returned, until Peter is resting in the headquarters’ little homemade infirmary and Sirius has insisted that someone check Remus over to make sure there is no lasting damage—it isn’t until this moment that Sirius even remembers the curse he flung. Avada Kedavra. The killing curse. His first.

“Nothing to show for it, Sirius,” Remus calls cheerily from where he sits on the infirmary bed while Poppy turns away. “Good as new.” He grimaces. “Well.”

He’s killed a man. And if he hadn’t, Remus would have been killed. Sirius feels like he’s swimming through soup as he walks towards him.

“Pads? You alright?” Remus has hopped off the bed and come to grip his arm, fingers tight and strong.

He shakes his head to dispel the fog. “I just. Yeah. Peachy keen, just. I guess it just hit me that…this is war, you know? A real war.”

Remus, being Remus, doesn’t say anything. He gives Sirius’ arm a squeeze and looks at him gravely before sliding his fingers down to his hand, leading them out of the infirmary.


	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is alone on his mission with the werewolves.

It takes just over two months for the pack to accept him. Three full moons in total. Three months of painful transformations that Remus had grown used to weathering with his friends. Three months of running free with those he cannot hurt. They are days from civilization but he still wakes up after each moon frantically searching his surroundings for a bloodied body, for anyone he has hurt. 

After the third full moon, they pin a cloak of wolf fur around his shoulders. The fur still has blood matted on it, and Remus isn’t sure if it’s the blood of the wolf whose skin this was, or of a previous owner. The fur is a symbol for new initiates—you are one of us—and for the first time on this insane mission Remus allows himself a bit of hope. 

The day after he is granted his fur, there is unrest. The court splits, fights, reforms. Balenful, their old pack leader, is ousted by a new red-haired man who has named himself Valkenvie. He carries a raven-haired lady on his arm at all times, and he does not like Remus. 

To implement his new reign, Valkenvie orders a bout of fights among four wolves of his choosing. Remus knows before the redhead points to him that he will be among the damned. He may have been one of the quicker duelers at Hogwarts, but he’s never been much for physical fights. 

Valkenvie sets them up in a kind of arena, flanked by a rock wall on one side and a cliff on the other, spectators at the wings. Remus’ first opponent is a surprisingly delicate dark-haired male. He is relieved—until he looks at the two other choices and realizes that he is being set up for a harder fight further down the line. 

It would be in his best interest to lose this fight and limp off to lick his wounds. But then he meets Valkenvie’s silver eyes and something in him shifts, and he finds himself fighting for his life, gnashing his teeth, a flurry of furs and, long, ragged hair around him, throwing the male to the ground beneath him, teeth snapping inches from the other male’s pretty face.

It’s stupidity, he knows. He can see it in Valkenvie’s face as he watches from his makeshift throne of furs. Remus has done exactly what he hoped. But he can’t force himself to regret it as he licks at his bleeding upper arm, watching the other two chosen battle it out. 

The second winner is Rorgenit, a large dark-haired werewolf from somewhere in southern Europe. It would be best to go down quickly. He feels the fear in his throat, the contraction in his chest, but he thinks about Sirius and Peter, James and Lily. How they deserved a future that matched their brightness.

This fight is far more brutal. His enemy clearly has the edge on him in strength, and so Remus has to be quick, and light, and smart. More, he has to be desperate. When Rorgenit catches him, he throws them both over the small cliff to the ground without regard for his own pain. His shoulder wrenches painfully, but he gets free. The man is fast though, and knocks Remus’ head against the rocky cliffside once, twice before either of them can scramble to their hands and knees. 

Remus’ world goes black for a few seconds, and when it comes rushing back everything is spinning and sparking around him. Rorgenit on his knees brings a large fist back and straight into his stomach. The second punch catches the bottom of his ribs and he can feel something break. 

Bright, he thinks desperately, Sirius, and with a roar that is half-sob, he knees the large male in the groin as hard as he can. He goes down, and Remus scrambles up, clinging to the rock as the world swings around him, and kicks again, into the man’s stomach, his face, his groin, feeling things break underfoot. Remus doesn’t stop until another wolf grabs him from behind, pulls him off, and raises one of his fists into the air. He fights it briefly before he realizes hazily that he has won. His ribs are screaming as he stands straight and tall, and the edges of his vision are black, but he finds Valkenvrie’s face in the crowd and bares his teeth in victory. He knows he must look a sight: there is blood coating his teeth, and he’s not sure where it’s coming from, but it doesn’t matter. 

That night as Remus shivers alone underneath the bloody fur, drawing slow breaths into his burning ribcage, he falls asleep with a grin on his face. He does yet know what tomorrow will bring.


	3. Found

Remus doesn’t have time to scream before his throat is gripped too tightly for air. Four of Valkenvie’s allies, all hulking pale figures against the waning gibbous moon, surround him in his sleeping furs. One pins his arms behind his back, letting out a low whine when Remus lashes out with one foot and gets him in the side of the knee. He doesn’t let go. The blond throws a punch into Remus’ broken rib, so hard that tears spring to his eyes despite how he screws them shut and a whimper tries to make its way out of his strangled throat.

Remus is still trying to blink the tears from his blurred vision while two of them drag him away from the camp into a clearing, where they release him. He drops bonelessly to the forest floor, trying to gasp air past his burning throat. Before he can catch his breath, two of the darker-haired men are holding him up against one of the oak trees while the blond sneers in front of him.

“Valkenvie’s not happy with ya, Remstalt, or should I say, _Remus Lupin_. If you had the good sense to lay low…” The blond giant shakes his head and kneels down in the grass. Remus bares his teeth, still heaving disparately for air.

The man leans in close, and Remus can smell the blood and meat on his breath. “Valkenvie knows what you’re doing,” he whispers to Remus. “He’s on to you and your…‘interests’ in the war. So you’re out. He said to let you go, but send a message. So, here’s the message.”

The punch is so fast Remus doesn’t see it coming before it’s far too late. The man grips Remus’ shoulder in one bruising hand to hold him still, and then his head back is knocked back into the tree trunk _hard_ and everything goes black and when it comes back it’s all very far away, and he can feel his shoulder wrenching and his side _burning_ and himself fading out.

* * *

He opens his eyes to bright light and blurry, unfamiliar trees. Things seem watery at the edges, and when he tries to sit up the world tilts far more than it should and his side lights up with fire and he finds herself on his back again, trying to blink the black spots away from the unbearably bright sky.

Something is horribly wrong, but he can’t s sort through his memories or sensations. He needs to keep moving, he knows that much. There is…something he needs. Something he needs to do. His trail of thoughts keeps skittering away from him. Remus closes his eyes tightly against the spinning forest and slowly rolls himself over. On his stomach, he tries to leverage himself up to sit, but one shoulder wrenches and he feels so dizzy.

After a moment, or maybe longer, the world steadies a bit. His legs are shaking but they don’t seem to be damaged, so he leverages himself to stand up against the nearest tree. It is a monumental effort. Every breath cuts through his injured shoulder and ribs but he must keep going, he knows.

The first few steps are hard, but he stumbles from tree to tree, stopping each time his vision becomes too spotty to see.

* * *

James and Peter have successfully completed their most important mission yet. Discretion is of the essence, even now, so they’re heading home on foot through the backwoods of a northern forest. James’ back aches from the pack and his feet are nothing but sharp needles of pain after so many miles. But they are less than a day now from town, where they can safely use a prepared portkey. Tomorrow, they’ll be home—there’ll be hot baths and hot food and _Lily_ —he’s hoping, at least. She hadn’t been present when they had left, and he hasn’t seen her in over a week, but war missions don’t wait for the schedules of lovers. He’s used to it by now, their easy, teasing school days gone far behind them.

The forest has been eerily silent for hours, not even birdsong filtering through the dark canopy, so when some shuffling sounds followed by a faint crash echo through the trees, James and Peter are both on high alert. They only need a single glance between them before their wands are out and their packs slipped from their shoulders.

Peter takes the lead as they creep towards the noise, wand hand extended, other thrown back for balance. He stops short and moment of fear thrills through James—what kind of wild or magical animal have they come across in this black forest?

“Remus, oh Merlin,” Peter squeaks out.

James barrels forward, though he knows he shouldn’t—should be hanging back in formation, waiting for Peter to give a signal—and as he draws even with Peter, he sees him.

Remus—or at least what appears to be Remus—is leaning heavily against a tree, eyes wide, wand arm in ready position mirroring their own. There is dried blood caked down one side of his face, and one eye is swollen and black, his cheekbone an impressive deep purple-blue. His other eye is sunken, as if he’s not slept deeply in months, and his whole form is trembling and sickly pale. He’s breathing hard just leaning against the trunk, and his right arm dangles uselessly at his side.

All in all, it’s might be the worst Remus has ever looked, which is saying something, after all the full moons they’ve helped him through.

James lowers his wand halfway, relaxing his grip just a bit, and holds up his other hand in placation. “Rem?” He asks carefully, his eyes not leaving Remus’ scared ones. Pete glances towards him and follows his lead, copying his stance.

Remus’ wand doesn’t drop. He’s still breathing hard and unsteadily, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Remus—” James tries again.

“Stay back,” Remus interrupts loudly, and James immediately wishes he hadn’t. His voice is husky and broken like glass shards.

“Rem, it’s just us,” her tries, lowering his wand an inch more.

“You need—” Remus chokes on air, and James is about to go to him and risk getting a curse thrown his way, but he recovers after a few harsh, short coughs. “You—we need to ask each other questions. I don’t know if it’s—if you’re real.”

It’s standard procedure, of course. To avoid the imperious curse or any disguises. But of course Remus was the one to follow the procedure when it looked like he was about to lose consciousness any second.

“Remus, can you just let us help,” James tries halfheartedly. If Remus was going to insist on the standard three questions for each of them, he wasn’t sure he would be on his feet by the end of it.

Remus raises his wand more pointedly, directly towards James. “What was I wearing when you first met me?”

James sighs, and then lowers his wand entirely. He sees the surprise widen Remus’ eyes slightly. “Royal blue sweater. Gray stitching on the neck and cuffs. Still surprised they didn’t just stick you in Ravenclaw at first glance. Can we help now?”

Remus shakes his head. “That was—too easy. I need—what is—the map?” He slips a bit further down the tree.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to good,” James whispers. “Remus—”

Remus shakes his head, and his eyes go unfocused and he loses purchase against the tree. “Back off,” he shouts, or tries to shout, wand raising steady. “When—" he breaks off to breathe raggedly. “When did Sirius and I get together?”

“Fifth year,” Peter answers without hesitation. “You didn’t think we knew until sixth but you guys were super obvious about it for—” He stops when Remus shakily swings his wand towards him, both hands raised in supplication.

“Moons,” James tries, and Remus turns back to him. “We answered your questions. Can we help now?”

Remus exhales unevenly. “I don’t—I. You’re not real. Why…why would you be here?”

“Order business, Moons. That’s all I can tell you. You know how it is.” James keeps his tone light, half-joking, hoping it will lull Remus into familiarity. He tries taking a step forward.

Remus lowers his wand halfway. “I asked…but you haven’t. You haven’t asked questions.” He stops to gasp for air. “You have to…to check.”

“We’ll check later,” James says gently, creeping another few steps forward. “Hey, Moony, don’t worry, alright? We’ll check.”

He sees it when Remus lets go, his posture slumping even further, eyes drooping. His wands lowers at last, then slips from his hand entirely. James rushes forward to catch him before he falls too. Remus is dead weight in his arms, completely out. James lowers him to the ground, checks for fever.

Peter comes forward then, elbowing James out of the way. “Prongs, you loaf, you don’t know how to check for injuries. Back up.” He runs his hands expertly over Remus’ scalp, pausing to wince as he checks the bloodied left side, then over Remus’ arms, legs, rib cage. His face is grim.

James has a sinking feeling. Peter is good at healing spells, good at medical aide—better than anyone else in their little group—but he’s never been able to hide his emotions. He remains silent though through the examination. No sense in breaking Peter’s concentration. When Pete looks up at the end, James raises his eyebrows, waiting for the other to speak.

Peter breathes out. “How do you feel about getting to that portkey early?”


	4. Found Cont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter actually got so long I had to cut it in half. So essentially: bonus chapter!

Remus drifts in and out of consciousness throughout their long trek. Every time he blinks himself awake it’s the same. He looks at James as if he’s seen a ghost, starts a litany of the same questions. After the third time James murmurs the answers into his ear as soon as his eyes flutter open: “You wore a blue sweater on the first day of school. Gray stitching. I solemnly swear I am up to no good…”

And after Remus is reassured that they are themselves, he will look around, clearly disoriented. “James…? I have to—I’m not supposed to be here. Let me down, ‘m supposed to be with—on a mission. Need to…get back…” Every time the same confused insistence, never letting any details of his mission slip, even now, when James at least has put two and two together and come up with werewolves.

Nothing can assuage Remus of this second request, so James resorts to some combination of “it’s alright” and “you’re done with the mission, Moons” until he falls back into an exhausted sleep. Peter doesn’t say much aside from his steady panting.

Peter is shaking from exhaustion by the time they arrive back at headquarters, and James is not far behind him. They were meant to hit the portkey by the next morning—instead they creep into the small valley town in the deepest part of the night. They’re lucky that the portkey has been preset already, lucky that it wasn’t being watched. They can’t take their usual precautions with Remus’ body held between them. They are lucky, and they make it back to headquarters. This time, James can’t help thinking.

The building is dark as they enter, but there are a few order members awake, as always, gathered around the small fireplace in the front hall. The two—Burkstoff and Winowa, James recognizes—jump up when James and Peter enter. Winowa shuts the door quickly behind them while Burkstoff holds them at wandpoint and rattles off the code phrases and questions.

James and Peter take turns rattling right back without hesitation despite their exhaustion. They’ve performed this ritual so many times by now that the answers are rote on their tongues, ready for offering. It takes less than a minute before Remus’ is settled, still unconscious, on the squishy loveseat by the fire, where Winowa peers down to examen him more closely.  
“He needs a healer,” she says without looking up. “We’ll take him there. You two get some rest.”

James turns to Burkstoff. “Is Sirius in?”

Burkstoff shrugs unhelpfully. “Think so. He just got back from a mission yesterday, know he wanted to see you.”

James feels a surge of affection and guilt. Sirius has been struggling more than most in the war, between his family and Remus’ long absences. “I’ll go let him know. Pete,” he nudges Peter, who has nearly fallen asleep on his feet. “Go find a bed. I’ll handle the rest.”

* * *

James finds Sirius tossing and turning on the purple couch in the west wing’s main sitting room. There are a few other order members scattered about on the furniture, all appearing asleep. He puts a careful hand on Sirius’ shoulder, featherlight, but even so the dark-haired man startles badly, grappling for his wand.

“Sirius,” James whispers furiously, holding him down. Sirius adjusts quickly—James can see his eyes blinking tiredly in the moonlight suffusing the windowpanes.

“James?” Sirius’ hand comes up to grip his arm, and James feels himself relax just hearing his voice. It’s been weeks since he’s seen Sirius, between their various missions and Sirius staying at the shabby apartment that he and Remus insisted on getting together. It’s a gift, nowadays, to hear any of their voices.

“James? What—is Peter okay?” Sirius fumbles for his wand again, gives up and whispers “lumos.” A tiny pinpoint of light appears between their faces, and James can see Sirius’ brows knitted in worry.

“No, Pete’s fine, it’s—we found Remus.” He feels Sirius’ body jolt and turn rigid under his hand.

“What? You—what? Where? Is he—”

“It’s…they’re taking him to the infirmary right now. Thought you’d want to see him—”

Sirius is already off of the couch, breaking out of James’ grasp. James hears him descending the stairs, quietly but quickly, and gets up to follow, a sinking feeling in his heart.

* * *

Remus is very small in the white infirmary bed. Poppy stands above him, weaving green tendrils of magic in the air. “He’ll be alright,” she whispers to Sirius as he comes to stand at the foot of the hospital bed. “We’ll get him fixed up—it’s all purely physical, no spell damage. Nothing a skilled healer can’t set right.”

Sirius locks his knees to prevent his legs from collapsing under him. He twists a hand around the metal footboard. “What happened?”

Poppy gray-streaked blond curls fall from her careful bun as she leans over Remus. “It looks like he was in a physical fight. Concussion, certainly, few broken ribs—I already fixed those dear, don’t worry—and internal bleeding and bruising, dislocated shoulder—that will take longer to set—and he’s badly dehydrated and exhausted. He’ll need a few days of resting up. And no missions for a week at least.” Poppy casts a glare over Sirius’ shoulder, as if her ire can pinpoint the order leaders’ whereabouts.

Sirius forces himself to breathe out. James is there behind him, dragging a metal and plastic chair over the bed, wincing as it scrapes loudly, pushing Sirius into it. He takes Remus’ hand, very, very gently. Remus is very small in the white infirmary bed—but he is alive. He’s been gone for over two months, and now he’s here. Sirius cradles Remus’ hand in both of his and bows his head over it, closes his tired eyes against the green light of Poppy’s magic.

* * *

Remus blinks slowing back into consciousness the next morning. James left at some point in the early morning to catch some sleep, and it’s just Sirius now, still in the metal chair. 

“Remus?” Sirius asks hopefully, attempting to scoot the chair another centimeter closer to the hospital bed, hands jumping up to flutter around Remus’ own hands, brush his hair back, smooth the thin blankets.

Remus blinks several times, gaze casting vaguely around the room before it settles on him. His brow creases. “Sirius?”

Sirius tries in vain not to wince at Remus’ hoarse whisper. He can still see bruising across his throat, the shape of a thumb across his vocal cords. “Hey Moons,” he breathes out.

In their school days, bruises left on Remus by their other classmates had made Sirius livid and vengeful. Now, the injuries only open a sinking pit of sorrow in his chest. He takes a cup of water from the nightstand and offers it to Remus, tips in gently into his mouth, one small sip at a time.

When Remus has had a chance to drink, Sirius settles the cup slowly back on the nightstand. “What happened?”

Remus’ hazel eyes look directly into his, blank and unbearably tired. “You know I can’t share details, Pads.”

Frustration rises in Sirius’ chest, much faster than it used to. “I’m not asking for mission details, Remus. I’m asking how you got the shit beat out of you.”

If Remus recognizes his frustration, he gives no indication. His gaze shifts to the middle distance, straight ahead. “I’m afraid that’s classified.” He cracks a half smile that lasts all as a second.

Sirius can hear him trying to inject humor into this, and usually he would appreciate the attempt. But this is too much. “Remus. I know what you’ve been doing, or at least the gist of it. And it’s suicidal. It’s ridiculous! Everyone else is in pairs, guarding such and such, securing one thing there, and you’re out on your own completely surrounded by your own worst nightmare—”

“Pads,” Remus interrupts, his voice loud and breaking but still flat. “I’m not the only one who’s working alone,” he continues more quietly. “Or the only one in danger.”

Sirius shakes his head. And then out spills the request he’s been trying to avoid making for several months now. “Give it up. Stop going. Tell them no.”

Remus is unsettlingly still. Sirius can’t tell if it’s from emotional shutdown or just because he’s that tired. All of him seems heavy. He looks back to Sirius. “I can’t.”

He grasps Remus’ limp hand. “You can. I’ll help. You can work regular order missions, fight with us again—”

Remus shakes his head. “I’m needed there. I’ll go where I’ll do the most good.” He shakes his head when Sirius opens his mouth again to protest. “Sirius.” He extricates his hand from Sirius’ grasp. “No.”

Sirius closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. When he opens them, Remus has already turned away, his eyes closed, clearly intending to escape this conversation into sleep.

Sirius drops his head into his hands. In school, he could threaten the people who hurt Remus. He could curse their pants to combust whenever they called him Loony, or turn their hair green and their ears hot pink and ensure all the Gryffindors called them Watermelon for a month. And after school, he and James had had plans to protect him. Find him a job in some bookstore, or just have him live out his days on Sirius’ salary and James’ inheritance—not that that wouldn’t have been a battle with Remus too. Instead of all this, instead of quiet days making Remus tea while he wears ridiculous sweaters and teaches Sirius muggle music, Sirius is sitting here, his head between his hands and his eyes burning with tears that won’t come.


	5. Getting Serious

They’re in the middle of a battle when it finally happens. Sirius had known that charging into danger the way he tends to would get him in trouble eventually. But Winowa and Caradoc are alone against five and he doesn’t let himself think before jumping in. He knows that Remus and James are behind him, somewhere, but he doesn’t register James’ furious whisper before he’s already in the fray, throwing an expelliamus spell at one of the Death Eaters and a hex at a second. As he’s turning to a third, who is screaming the beginning of _curiatius_ , he hears a dark combination of syllables to his left and sees purple and then there’s nothing but pain and dark.

“Sirius. Sirius!” It’s James voice. The world is dizzying when he opens his eyes. He realizes that James is shaking him, his voice hoarse. He feels Remus somewhere above them and sees a white glow and then—

* * *

He is somewhere white and blue, and everything is blurry, the colors running together. There is something dark over to his left, and he flinches at the thought of that purple pain.

“Sirius?” he hears, in Remus’ calm voice, and he relaxes, blinking his eyes furiously to clear his vision.

Remus’ haggard face swims into view. His eyes are carefully tight, empty of their usual wry spark. One hand is gripping Sirius’ tightly.

“Remus,” Sirius grits out, shifting to sit up in the bed. Remus doesn’t help and doesn’t let go of his hand, just watching as he struggles into a sitting position. “Hey. Are you alright?”

Remus’ eyes tighten even further for a second before his face becomes blank and he only looks tired again. “I’m fine. You were shot with a hex in the field. It was a while before we could get you back here, which meant the hex had time to set.”

Sirius breathes out carefully. “I’m sorry, Re—”

“Poppy’s been tending to you. We’ve been brewing potions. I need to go let her know.” Remus lets go of his hand and disappears before Sirius’ foggy brain can process what he’s said.

* * *

Sirius spends the next few days with Poppy hovering over him, skilled hands slowly repairing the spell’s damage. Remus is often there, at his side or in the corner of the room working through reports, but he doesn’t speak to him except in the same hard voice. Sirius can tell how tightly he’s wound from how stiffly he holds his fingers as he turns the pages.

Let it never be said that Sirius is particularly emotionally intelligent or sensitive. So, on the third day of this he says “Remus, will you get over yourself? I’m not dead.”

And Remus’ eyes flicker up to his for a moment before they return to the page. “What is there to get over?”

“Moons, I know you’re mad. Will you just—”

“I’m not mad.”

“Right,” Sirius bites out, truly peeved now. “Right, sure. So it's not that you're mad as hell that I wasn’t cautious, but you can’t bloody well say as much to me because we both know that you’ll be running off on whatever the next suicidal mission is as soon as you possibly can? Is that it?” He can see Remus set his jaw.

Remus doesn’t look up, but he’s also no longer pretending to read his report. “ _I_ take on necessary missions for the order, Sirius, which happen to sometimes be dangerous. I don’t go throwing myself into battle frays in routine missions just to see how many Death Eaters I can take before one of them blasts me away—”

“Rem, Winowa and Caradoc would’ve gotten killed! I wasn’t…playing the hero for no reason.”

Remus looks up, eyes flashing in anger, and Sirius thinks _finally_. “We could’ve put together a plan that involved all three of us. It would have been a matter of seconds.” He grits out each word like it pains him, before shaking his head, still glaring. “I’m—you don’t—I was trying not to do this.” He stands up and gathers his papers in a rush.

“Wait, what? Rem, hang on—” Sirius nearly falls out of the bed in his rush to go after Remus, who is suddenly there at his bedside, preventing his fall.

“Merlin, Sirius, will you fucking stay still? You nearly died a week ago.”

“I will when you stop being so bloody stiff and start telling me what you really think!” Sirius shoves the covers back down and glares.

Remus steps away from the bed and slowly lowers himself into the chair, sighing. He puts his head in his hands. “You’re an idiot! We could’ve figured something out! You shouldn’t have to jump into danger.”

“Moony, there’s a war on, in case you haven’t heard,” Sirius says. Remus sniffles and throws him another glare.

Sirius allows himself to smile grimly for a moment before turning serious. “I mean it. I shouldn’t have to rush into danger and you should _not_ be going on those missions—don’t roll your eyes, it’s the same and you know it. Listen, we shouldn’t be in danger and we shouldn’t be in this position, but we _are_ , and there isn’t anything more we can do about it than fight, yeah?”

Remus stares at him, his thin hands fisted in his loose shirt, whole body closed in on itself.

Sirius swallows hard and looks away. “So maybe…maybe someday, the war’ll be over, and we can maybe live in a real fucking house and have a real fucking life, with, ya know, a garden and whatnot. Without wondering whether the other is going to come home or wake up this time. But right now, what we have is our shitty flat, and sometimes each other, for as long as we keep coming home. So that’s what I’ll take.”

Remus shakes his head. His voice is hoarse. “I still think you’re an idiot. I’m still _angry_.”

“Remus, you think I’m not angry when you go willingly into the forest to buddy up with we-both-know-who? You think I wasn’t angry when you—when James and Peter had to _force_ you to come home because you wouldn’t abandon your pointless mission? I’ve been angry since this started. I imagine I’ll keep being angry until it ends. I’m angry now, because I know that tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that, you’ll be leaving again, and I might not see you for months, or ever, and there’s _nothing_ I can fucking do to stop it!” Sirius is on the verge of crying now. His voice has gone all hoarse. He scrabbles at his eyes before the tears can escape.

Remus has moved closer as Sirius talks, but he still shakes his head. “I won’t stop going on missions,” he says, and his voice carries fear in it.

It’s not a surprise, but Sirius’ hearts sinks anyway. “I know,” he manages bitterly. “I suppose we’ll just have to be angry and love each other at the same time.”


	6. Sick

Remus has been missing for three weeks this time. Sirius had not been told when he would be coming back. He’d only been alerted that he was leaving by the lingering kiss he had given Sirius when walking out the door three Tuesdays ago.

Don’t leave _, he had said, cold, fingers grasping at Remus’ thin wrists to catch him before he disappears to whatever meeting where he was told where to go._

_Remus hadn’t said anything, just stared at him with his sad, half-hooded eyes._

Please _, his voice had broken. He swallowed._ Remus, don’t do this again. Help somewhere else.

This is the most good I can do. _His words were deadened, exhausted. Sirius wasn’t sure he even believed them anymore._

_Sirius opened his mouth to argue again, but Remus shook his head. They’d already had this discussion, a million times over. Sirius had cried over this, dug his nails into his palms until he broke skin. It didn’t matter what he said—Remus kept heading directly into these pointless, suicidal missions regardless of how much he tried to make him see that he was worth more than that._

_So Sirius dragged him back and kissed him, hard, crushed his body to his own, and then let him go. He didn’t meet Remus’ eyes as he drew back and closed the door._

* * *

Remus has been gone for months before, so Sirius had no way of knowing if a mission had gone wrong or right. After three years of war, Sirius has gotten used to the whistling emptiness in his center. He operates day-to-day, handles missions with just as much precision as before. If his hands sometimes shake at night before he falls asleep, if he avoids any missions longer than 48 hours, well, everyone has weird scars left by the war, hidden places they’re developing. Sirius isn’t the only one jumping up whenever a door opens.

This time, Sirius is at his and Remus’ apartment, trying and failing to sleep, and he’s alerted by the members on duty, Alice and Frank. Two order members on a London mission to some seedy underground contacts find him, wandless and shivering in an alley, soaked through with late autumn rain, they tell Sirius.

He makes it there while they’re all still in the front hall—Alice must have called him right away. Remus is slumped against one of them, blinking slowly like he’s just on the edge of consciousness. Sirius’ heart feels like it’s being crushed in its ribcage. He realizes he that he had really thought this was the time, the one when Remus didn’t come back. But here he is, looking like death warmed over.

“Fuck,” Sirius breathes out. The members who found him—Caradoc and some dark-haired older witch he doesn’t know—are hauling him over to the couch, Alice and Frank swarming around them, trying to help. It’s general chaos for a moment before they get Remus settled, and Alice rushes off to find a healer.

The others exchange murmured words. Sirius doesn’t really hear any of it as he sinks down next to Remus. Remus’ face is icy underneath his palm, his breathing laboured and uneven. His eyes are unfocused and he flinches at Sirius’ touch. “Pads?” His voice is hoarse.

“Yeah, Moons, I’m here.” Sirius slips his hand down to the back of Remus’ cold neck and grasps her pale arm in his other hand, squeezing tightly. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

Remus looks confusedly up at him for several seconds before appearing to accept the idea. His brow smooths out and his eyes slip closed, and Sirius can hear his rattling breaths slow.

Sirius keeps hold of his hand as Poppy and a young blond healer arrive, as they attach vials of potions and cast warming spells, even as they transfer him to the infirmary, where Remus seems even paler underneath the bright lights.

* * *

Sirius stands outside of the heavy wooden door that the order leaders sometimes use as an office after general meetings. He is shaking—with nervousness or with anger, he can’t tell. He’d seen Dumbledore disappear down this corridor after the last meeting. He takes a breath before pushing the door open without knocking.

Dumbledore looks up at his over his spectacles bemusedly for a moment. “Sirius. I hoping you’re fairing well, but I’m afraid I have other matters—”

“Take Remus off of missions,” Sirius interrupts baldly. He stumbles over himself trying to backtrack. “Er, off of the missions he’s being sent on, rather. He’s…he keeps getting hurt. I know he’s going on the most dangerous missions—out in the woods, with the most uncertain contacts. He’s too young for that, sir. He could go on safer missions. Ones near home, or with a partner—he needs a partner—”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore interrupts gently, gesturing to the chair in front of him. “You must know that Remus has volunteered for all of the missions on which he has been sent—several of which could only have been accomplished by him.”

Sirius shakes his head slightly, shifting from foot to foot and deciding to ignore the offer of a seat.

“I understand you two are close, Sirius, but Remus is a crucial part of our strategy to defeat Voldemort”—he pauses as Sirius flinches at the name—"and we all must make sacrifices. Remus has offered us his talents, and it would be remiss of me to waste them.”

“He’s getting _hurt_ ,” growls Sirius. He knows that Remus would have argued the same thing Dumbledore was arguing now, knew the speech about sacrifice by heart, but right now he couldn’t think of anything but how cold Remus’s clammy skin had been under his palm.

Dumbledore stared at him over his spectacles for another moment, then looked down, shifting through the stack of parchment in his hands. He cleared his throat.

“Sirius, members of the Order are expected to be able to give their lives for their cause. Lives _will_ be lost. This is, after all, a war. I do my best to keep those around me safe, but, as I said, some sacrifices must be made.”

“So you’re sacrificing Remus,” Sirius bites out.

Dumbledore adjusts his spectacles. “I am prepared to make whatever sacrifices are necessary to defeat this evil, including my own life and, yes, the lives of those who have chosen to fight. If that includes Remus, he will have died for a worthy cause.”

Sirius shakes his head. He can feel his lips being drawn into a sneer, and he purses his lips together instead. “Sir, Remus already thinks the world would be better off without him. You’re giving him the chance to throw his life away, and he’s going to take it.”

“We have many young people fighting for our cause, Sirius,” Dumbledore repeats, in the same even tone of voice, folding his hands together over his stomach.

Sirius clenches his hands into fists at his sides, nails biting into the skin, and takes one long breath. He gives Dumbledore a jerky nod, not trusting himself to speak, before fleeing the office room.

* * *

Sirius sits at Remus’ bedside while Poppy and the other younger healer, Rotsper, fuss around him. Remus has managed to catch some sort of magic-resistant chest and throat infection. “It happens when a wizard gets run down,” Poppy had said. “Out in the cold with no food and water, that would do it, I imagine.”

Remus has been mostly sleeping coughing for two days. Poppy has said he’ll need at least a week of recovery, and Sirius spent several hours trying to tamper the relief he felt at Remus just being _here_ where he’s safe, at least relatively, before he gave up and focused instead of making sure Remus was as comfortable as possible, making small adjustments in the pillows and finding the warmest blanket.

Sirius is brushing Remus’ hair carefully back from his forehead where it has fallen again when James comes to stand behind him, and that’s when he lets himself cry, just a few frustrated tears.

“I just want him to be safe,” Sirius says, so tired. James hand is on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I just wanted him to be able to rest for once in his goddamned life.”

“I know, mate,” James says softly.

“I know there’s a war on. I know. But why now? Why, just when we graduated?”

Lily appears in the doorway a moment later, fresh from a mission and looking like she’s run here, cheeks bright with exertion. She only has eyes for Remus, taking the chair on the other side of her bed, silently, grasping a skeletal hand in both of hers. She looks at Sirius, her narrowed, bright eyes just barely revealing the tears she’s holding back. She swallows hard before lowering her gaze.

“Why can’t we just have one bloody year of peace?” Sirius says, and his hands won’t unclench around the bedframe.


	7. Won and Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh I'm so sorry for how late this is. I'm doing NaNoWriMo rn and it's been hard to write anything besides that project. BUT I finally finished! It's wildly longer than I anticipated (this is my first multi-chapter fic can you tell) so I'll just be posting the rest of the chapters today.

The war is over.

Sirius can hardly believe it.

It’s over. Voldemort died on a Scottish moor in the dead of winter surrounded by members of the Order and their allies. Lily and James were both there, in the final battle. Lily had in fact been one of the seven whose simultaneous curses killed him, despite the fact that she was nearly incapacitated by a botched killing curse at the time. James had proposed as he shielded her bloodied body on the moor, though Sirius still isn’t clear if that was before or after Voldemort was killed. The two of them—Lily even paler than normal but smiling brilliantly in her infirmary bed—had tumbled over their story so much, their hands clasped tightly, that Sirius honestly isn’t sure of any of the details.

He’d wished them congratulations heartily. They’d drank to the fallen—Caradoc, and Frank, who had left a pregnant Alice grieving. But they’d known that many of them would die. Nothing could seem to stop the relief of going to sleep knowing there was no more danger, waking up to clear skies knowing they wouldn’t be sent on a mission. Those who were safe were safe forever—that was how it felt. No more waiting on the edge of an unknowable despair.

Except, of course, for Sirius.

Because Remus had still been out on a mission during the final battle, hadn’t he? He’d left five weeks, three days, and 17 hours ago, and though Voldemort—they can call him by his _name_ now—died three days ago, Remus is nowhere to be found.

Sirius thinks that he would know if Remus was dead. This is what he tells himself when he lies awake at night. When he wakes up, unrested, in the wane hours of the morning, in their dim apartment where he has not bothered to relight the bulbs as they have gone out: he would feel different, if Remus was gone. There would be a sudden jolting in his center, when it happened. It’s what James tells him, too, when he clasps his hand on Sirius’ shoulder and tells him they _will_ find Remus, they _will_.

Sirius isn’t sure. His scattered moments with Remus have been few and far between this past year, and each is stilted with a distance they’ve never know before. Their last conversation still lands heavy and salted in his mouth.

* * *

_“Sirius, leave it,” Remus snaps, before Sirius can even open his mouth._

_He’s just brought a recovering Remus home and, after Remus rejected the idea of going back to sleep—"Sirius, I’ve_ just _woken up”—sat him down at their rickety kitchen table with tea and the blanket Peter had stolen as a joke from the Gryffindor commonroom sixth year. It’s clutched tightly around his thin frame, faded nearly pink by now what with how often it’s been passed between them all._

_Sirius doesn’t try to deny his intentions. He’d been steeling himself to have the same conversation he’s had with Remus a million times, hoping that somehow nearly dying of illness would have changed his mind. But truthfully, he’s a little relieved that Remus stops him._

_Of course, he immediately feels guilty when he admits the relief to himself. What kind of a partner—a friend—is he that he’s just going to let this go? But then, how many times can they have this same conversation, where Sirius pleads and Remus just shuts down?_

_Sirius doesn’t want to fight. He’s sick to death with fighting. So he just stares into his own steaming tea mug._

_“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers, after what feels like an infinity._

_Sirius looks up, shocked. Remus does not give concessions for things like this. Even an apology is an admission, an opening for compromise that Remus does not want and will not take. “What for?” He says. He tries for levity, but his voice comes out tired and flat, and he scrubs a hand over his face._

_Remus’ wide, dry eyes stare down at his hands. “You’re exhausted. You’re doing nothing but worrying about me and taking care of me. Have you even slept since they brought me back?”_

_Sirius drops his head into his hands. Is there any point in denying it? “I caught some winks here and there. You know what would make me stop worrying?” He hates himself the minute the words are out. Is he trying to pick a fight? He hears Remus let out a short huff of breath._

_“We could…break things off, for the time being.” Remus says the words like he knows they’re a lost cause._

_Sirius looks up at him, shocked. Remus keeps his gaze determinedly on his scarred hands. “_ What, _” Sirius says. “Break up? Remus, I hardly get any time with you as it is. You don’t think I’m counting every minute you’re here with me?” He stands, turning to pace around the room, trying to let out the frustration in his quick, jerky movements instead of at Remus. “And you want me to give up more time with you, when I don’t know how much we’ve got left? Absolutely not. That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”_

_“Sirius…” Remus pinches his nose, wincing, as if Sirius is being the difficult one, then sighs. “I guess I know it’s pointless. I’m just trying to do some damage control.”_

_Sirius takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. “Damage control? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”_

_“I’m just trying to…” Remus’ eyes search the room. “Minimize the damage that my decisions are causing to the people around me. I thought I could help you. It was a stupid idea—”_

_“Yeah,” Sirius interrupts, happy to find something they agree on. “It was.”_

_Remus half smiles at him. “I should’ve known I couldn’t keep you away.” The smile leaves, as quickly as it appeared. “But I’m sorry, Sirius. I’m not changing my decision, but I know it’s hard on you. And I’m sorry for that. If you wanted to leave, I’d understand.” He holds up a hand quickly as Sirius tries to interrupt again. “I know you won’t, you idiot. But if you did, or if you choose to in the future. If it’s too much, too long, I won’t blame you.”_

_Sirius wants to argue against that too. But before he can speak his throat’s closed up and he has to blink tears out of his eyes. He sits down heavily again at the table. Takes a sip of tea. “Thanks, Moons,” he says, a whisper all he can manage. “I won’t…I won’t. But…it helps. To know you’re sorry.”_

_Remus smiles at him again, and Sirius thinks maybe they’ll both come out of this alright, just like he’s promised Remus._

_It’s then that the fireplace blazes to life, a parchment scroll fluttering down onto the carpet. “I’ll get it.” Sirius is quick to jump from the table and snatch it, trying to keep Remus from exerting himself._

_He tries to open it, but all the edges are sealed with purple wax that resists his attempts to break through it, and he doesn’t have much time before Remus is at his side, snatching the parchment from his fingers and breaking the seal easily._

_“How?!” He gawks._

_“It’s a new type of charm,’ Remus explain without looking up. “They started using it on these last month.” While he speaks, his eyes are scanning the parchment, and before Sirius can move to see it, he’s snapped it shut. “_ Incendio _.”_

_The parchment is consumed in flame almost instantaneously. Sirius rolls his eyes at Remus’ wandless magic, the show-off. “Okay, I think that’s enough fun for the invalid, let’s—”_

_But Remus has dropped his blanket from around his shoulders and is standing taller than a moment ago. When he meets Sirius' eyes, there isn’t any of the reconciliation, the compromise, the smile left. “I’m leaving again. I can’t tell you how long—”_

_“You what.” Sirius’ hand clenches on air as Remus moves out of his grasp. “You—they can’t—you haven’t even recovered—”_

_Remus is collecting his wand from the kitchen table, adjusting his clothing—sweatpants and one of Sirius’ old t-shirts—as best he can, attempting to smooth his hair. His eyes are still sunken with exhaustion from fighting the double infection. He rubs them unthinkingly._

_“I’m fine. And being a bit poorly will probably be better for this type of mission anyway.” His mouth snaps shut, like he’s said too much. “I’ve got to leave immediately.” He looks around the room, uncertain, before his gaze settles on Sirius._

_“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” says Sirius._

_“No. I’m fucking serious.” The reply is automatic, and Remus cracks a smile at the old line before his face straightens out and his eyes go dead again. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”_

_“Remus, wait, Rem—” Sirius manages to catch ahold of Remus’ t-shirt—_ his _t-shirt, the bastard—before he walks into the fireplace. Their faces are a foot apart. “Tell them no,” he breathes. “You can say no. Just say no, tell them you can’t, and you can recover here. I’ll make more tea and we can formulate the response together—”_

_Remus kisses him._

_Sirius kisses back, thinking he’s done it, he’s won out at last, and he can feel Remus here in his arms when he goes to sleep—before Remus breaks it off. “I’m sorry,” he says again, taking a pinch of the floo powder._

_Sirius’ mouth is still open. The crushed hope is worse than if he hadn’t had any. He clenches his jaw so hard he thinks he’ll shatter it. “Fuck you, Remus,” he spits out._

_Remus stares for a second, and Sirius can see the surprise on his face before it hardens. He gives a single quick nod and steps into the fireplace, throwing the powder and calling out a complicated code name Sirius has never heard._

_Sirius makes it to the nearest chair before he sinks down, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He sits there until it’s gone dark outside and the two cups of tea left on the table have long been cold._

* * *

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut against the memory, which still overwhelms him even after the hours he’s been dwelling on it in the last two weeks. _We were so close,_ he thinks. _If I’d just held on to him for two more fucking weeks. If he’d just said no to one fucking mission, he’d be here beside me right now._

Instead, Sirius is out on some plain in the middle of nowhere Scotland with James, searching the hills while a dreary rain drizzles down into their collars and hoods. Peter has seemingly found his position at last, helping the healers with the influx of patients from the last bloody battle, and he is swamped every minute, or he would be here with them too. He had looked at Sirius regretfully, clearly torn, and Sirius had told him to stay and save some lives, and let them know if Remus showed up there. 

Dumbledore is refusing to talk, of course. “There are still many deatheaters at large, Sirius,” he’d said, when Sirius had nearly burst down his door. “I do not think it prudent to reveal classified mission information until the danger has fully passed.” So instead they’re following any false trail and sudden whim one of them has. James has spent his time split between Lily’s bedside and helping Sirius eke out any possible trails, and Sirius knows he won’t be able to keep going for much longer.

“We should wrap it up,” he calls over to James. “Prongs!”

James looks up at him like a deer— _ha—_ in headlights, his big glasses making his eyes look even wider. Sirius gives him a wrapping-up hand motion and he trots over.

“We should go. It’s starting to get stormier. And it looks like McKinley had bad info.” It pains Sirius to say it, but it’s been obvious for at least an hour now that the potential trail they’d tracked is not just cold but probably nonexistent. James truly is a champ for sticking it out this long anyway, the dolt.

“We can start fresh tomorrow—or, I will. You should spend some time with Lily.” It comes out a bit too heartfelt, and Sirius offsets it by bumping shoulders with James a little too harshly.

James stumbles, but he only sends Sirius a brilliant smile and claps him on the shoulder as they both put their hands on the portkey. He’s worried to death about Remus, just like Sirius is, but Sirius knows nothing can stop the undercurrent of relief James is feeling. He’s been swinging wildly between manic, elated, and grieving, equal parts sorrow and joy.

They appear back at the old headquarters, which is open to all now, still serving as an infirmary for those injured in the war but also now and as a base for wizards to try to find their lost loved ones. They keep a list up in the front hall—which is always crowded and bustling now—with all of the recorded dead, the injured, the found. Sirius checks it every morning, though he knows that if Remus is found an order member will get the news to him long before he finds the name there.

He strolls up to check the list now, mostly out of habit, but he hears someone call his name.

“Sirius! Sirius.” Lily nearly runs into to him, hanging on to his arm as she pants.

“Lily! Alright? Merlin, sit down, you idiot,” he helps her to the nearest chair among the many strewn across the front hall, and then James is caught up with them, trying to sooth her.

She bats him away. “They may have found Remus.” Her green eyes are locked to Sirius’, her cheeks still red from exertion.


	8. Saved

Sirius’ body goes cold. It’s like what he’s always imagined the liquid from a pensieve would feel like if it was poured into his veins. “What? Where?”

James' arms are around her shoulders. “Lil?”

“The LeStrange’s.” She sends Sirius a startled look, clearly remembering his relation to the family, and the old glimmer of guilt steals over him. “Their house was searched today and they found…this underground dungeon—they’re going through it now, starting to bring people back. I heard…when they were bringing people into the infirmary.”

Lily is beginning to pale again now, still panting for breath, and Sirius catches James’ worried glance. “That’s alright, Lil," he tells her. "I’ll get the info from the people coming in.”

Lily is beginning to list to the side. James steadies her and throws him another worried look, clearly uncertain as to whether to let Sirius go alone.

“Don’t worry about me,” Sirius reassures him. “It’s not like it’s a battleground. I’ll just go check it out.” Sirius draws his wand from his boot. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find him.” He tries to sound confident. Remus will be there this time. He has to be.

James nods gratefully, and Sirius spins towards the doors to headquarters. He knows where the LeStranges lived. There is no reason to wait on further information. As soon as he’s out the doors, he apparates to the front door of the LeStrange mansion, just outside of the wards. Two men are just coming out, carrying a stretcher between them, on which an older wizard lays, clutched one bloodied leg, his face screwed up in agony. Sirius spends a second too long looking at the man before he squares his shoulders and enters.

The mansion is crawling with people—men and women in sturdy black robes helping prisoners through the long hallways. The condition of the prisoners seems to vary widely--some seem not much worse for wear, while others are carried in the long stretchers, their faces bloodied and black. Sirius sees missing limbs, and some stretchers have white sheets pulled over them.

He tries not to let the feeling of the cold pensieve fear slip into him again. _I would know it if he were dead,_ he repeats to himself, and walks on.

At the end of a hallway, part of the wall is blown away, and a series of steps lead down into the dark. Sirius slips down them and finds himself facing long lines of cells. The floor and walls are packed dirt, and the bars of the cells—more like cages, Sirius thinks—are iron.

Most of the narrow corridors are clogged with people. Some prisoners are talking with their rescuers, instructing them to check on certain cells, asking about the latest battles. Others are shivering under blankets and warming charms. Several healers, bright points in their lime green robes, dart through the crowds, helping those who need more urgent assistance. The prisoners who have not yet been freed wait, their arms at the bars, eyes hungry but joyful, shouting to their rescuers as they stream down the aisles. Some are loudly singing old battle songs. The victory must have been announced to them.

“Hey,” Sirius says to a released prisoner who seems unharmed but for her ragged clothes. “Was there any special place where members of the order were kept? Looking for a friend.”

She shrugs. “We were all mixed, I think.”

Sirius grits his teeth. “Thank you.” She nods slowly at him.

He resigns himself to prowling each line of the cells, making his way through the crowds, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone who might be Remus. Many cells have been opened already, and are empty, or empty except for the dead. Sirius makes himself look at each face. He keeps seeing slim figures and flashes of dirty blond hair, and his heart jumps in his chest every time, but then the figure will turn and his heart sinks again. There is no sign of Remus.

He’s worked his way from left to right, and only has four more long rows of the cells to go when he catches sight of sandy hair again, curled up in a cell alone. He walks toward it slowly, and figure shifts and it’s then, in the careful quiet movement, that Sirius knows.

“Rem,” he whispers, running the rest of the way to the cell and clutching at the bars. “Remus!”

The figure startles and looks up.

It’s Remus. He looks even more exhausted than the last time Sirius saw him and half-starved but he’s _alive_ and his eyes are shining, his lips mouthing Sirius’ name.

Sirius breaks eye contact to fumble at the lock for a second before realizing it must carry some sort of special enchantment.

“It’s _allahsora_ ,” Remus whispers. Sirius startles and stares at Remus, who stares right back. “That’s what they say when they unlock it. Only works from the outside, obviously.” He gestures towards Sirius.

“ _Allahsora_ ,” Sirius murmurs, not taking his eyes from Remus, and the lock clicks open under his fingers. He pushes at the door, its bottom screeching along the dirt floor, and stands above Remus’ hunched form. He can’t believe he’s found him, no matter what everyone else has kept insisting.

Remus smiles his crooked smile as he looks up at Sirius. “Heard the war was over.”

Sirius kneels down in front of him and throws himself into Remus’ arms, knocking him back against the bars of the cage. Remus is cold underneath him, and Sirius holds his wand out crookedly and manages to cast a warming charm without letting go of Remus.

Remus laughs and pushes Sirius back to look at him. “You’re alright?”

“Course I’m alright,” Sirius scoffs. He looks Remus over carefully. “Are you?”

“I’m okay—I am, really,” Remus pulls his arm back and grins, a real grin. “It’s not exactly been comfortable living conditions but I’m not hurt.” He spreads his arms wide. Sirius prods at his torso suspiciously, just in case. “The others?”

“James and Peter are okay. Lils is recovering but she’ll be fine. Don’t know if you heard but she cast one of the killing blows so…I guess we serve her now or something.”

Remus’ face twists, happy and sad, and he blinks quickly-forming tears away to smile at Sirius again, their faces inches apart.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, suddenly remembering their last conversation all over again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck you—I mean. I do, wait.” Sirius’ brow creases in confusion. “I was angry and I shouldn’t have said that. I was just worried—”

“I know, Sirius,” Remus soothes, his voice strong and steady. “I never blamed you. I was happy you were finally getting angry for yourself. And I’m sorry too. But it’s over.”

“It’s over,” Sirius repeats, his hand cradling the back of Remus’ neck before he stands up, carefully extricating himself from Remus before offering his hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of here and into a bath, and a bed.”

“Gladly,” says Remus, and takes the hand. He stumbles a bit standing up, but Sirius steadies him with both hands on his waist, and then pulls him in for another embrace.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” he whispers into Remus’ disheveled, dirty hair. “And you’re here. I’ve had to watch you fall so many times. You’ve finally let me catch you.”

And then Remus does.

Quite literally, he does, because at that second Remus’ knees buckle under him and he slumps against Sirius.

“Rem!” Sirius hands tighten around Remus’ waist, holding him up against his body. “You said you weren’t hurt! Where is it?” He demands.

Remus laughs, slightly hysterical. “’m not.” There is a slight slur to his voice, but he gives his head a little shake and shifts against Sirius. “Sorry. I just…got lightheaded. Haven’t had much to eat.” He notices Sirius’ continued glare. “I swear, Pads.”

Sirius squints at him suspiciously. “We’re getting you out of here. I’m feeding you on Molly Weasley’s tarts and pasties until you’re stuffed.” He hoists Remus against him as he speaks, winding one of his thin arms around his shoulders.

“Sounds good,” Remus murmurs faintly.

“Come on, Moony, hold it together for me until we get out of the mansion and I can apparate us back.” Sirius tries to stay calm. He knows Remus will be okay, he’s got him right here in front of him. But all his worst years for so long are crashing around him, and there’s a nagging suspicion that he won’t get a happy ending, isn’t fit for it. He shakes Remus against him, gently as he can manage. “Hey.”

Remus blinks and nods, coming back to himself a bit, and they shuffle along slowly.

When Sirius apparates them back, headquarters is in chaos. The front hall is packed with joyful reunions and people sobbing—in both joy and grief—over the new names which have been added to the list. Sirius spots James fighting his way through the crowd to them.

“Moony,” he says, when he reaches them, and opens his arms. Remus falls into them like he’s been waiting for it. “Welcome home.”


	9. Stung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Since I feel like the story expanded in ways I didn't expect and kind of got away from me, I might come back in a few months and try to make some edits, but there won't be any major changes--hopefully I'll just make it more coherent as a whole. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

“Remus!” Lily positively squeals out when they enter the south wing of the infirmary--after, of course, Sirius has seen to it that Remus has had a cup of water and one of whatever kinds of tarts Molly was handing out to the crowds in the front hall.

Lily is sitting up in bed, her arms extended, Peter taking a break in the chair next to her.

“Lily,” Remus says, quiet and fond, and leans down to hug her. “Heard you’re basically our new queen now,” Sirius hears him whisper. “What with defeating the dark lord himself and all.”

Lily laughs. “Just don’t get on my bad side.”

“I think I can manage that. These three on the other hand…” he gestures to James, Peter, and Sirius with a look of utter despair.

Sirius can barely remember this laughing, warm, teasing Remus from before the war. He didn’t realize how much was missing, and how much he missed it, until Remus is joking with Lily, one hand still resting on her shoulder. Sirius presses two fingers into his eyes in an effort to stop the sudden tears from flowing out, and when that doesn’t help, he mutters “I need some air,” and hurries out one of the side doors into the yard, his vision blurring.

Outside the air is cold and clear, and it’s just beginning to snow, a barely-there flurry dusting over the trees. Remus appears beside him a few moments later, once he’s managed to collect himself a bit. It’s just like Remus to purposefully give him a few moments to himself, Sirius thinks.

“Sirius?” Remus asks, and he sounds strangely vulnerable. He puts a hand on Sirius’ arm.

Sirius tries to smile at him, but instead a watery laugh escapes him and he breaks, choking on his tears. “Merlin, sorry,” he mutters, trying to wipe them away.

“Oh, Pads,” Remus whispers, hugs him while he lets out a quiet sob.

Sirius lets Remus hold him for a moment before he pulls away, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry,” he says again. “It’s just. You’re here. You’re not leaving.” He chances a quick glance up Remus. “You’re not leaving, right? There’s not like, some last secret mission or—”

“Pads.” Remus rubs Sirius arms up and down gently. “No, Sirius, no. I’m not going on any more missions.”  
  
“You’re not gonna let Dumbledore convince you to be some sort of special auror or unspeakable or…” Sirius’ stomach drops as he thinks about all of the different possibilities. He’s been so busy trying to get them through the war, he’d never considered the dangers that would present themselves after.

“ _No_ , Sirius.” Remus spins him into a one-armed hug and stands on tiptoe to place a kiss on his nose. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t like going on the missions, Pads. I went on them for _you_.”

Sirius rears his head up and away from Remus. “For me? You’ve go to be—”

“ _Yes_ , for you, Sirius. You and Peter and Lily and James…I just needed to do everything I could make sure you were safe. And you are now. We’re all here, we all made it. And I’m done.” Remus buries his head in Sirius’ chest, as if just realizing the truth of his own words. “I’m done,” he whispers.

Sirius brings his arms up to embrace him, and they stay like that for a long time.

“Remus,” Sirius whispers, several minutes later, trying not to break the spell of peace that’s settled over them. They’ve stayed so long that the flurry has turned to thick flakes, and Sirius can’t feel his fingers. There is snow dusting Remus’ dirty hair.

Remus looks up at Sirius. There are snowflakes melting on his eyelids.

“I wanted you to be safe too.” Sirius keeps his voice low.

Remus’ face crumbles, guilty. “I know. I—”

“lt doesn’t matter anymore,” Sirius interrupts. “It’s over, just. Remus, let me catch you, alright? Let me take care of you?”

Remus gives a full-body shudder, and Sirius tightens his grip around him. Remus laughs shakily, shuddering out a breath. “Yeah, okay.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Sirius,” Remus shakes his head, smiling up at him. “You can take care of me as long as you want.”

“Good,” says Sirius. “That’s forever. Now come on, let’s get inside, it’s bloody freezing out here.”

* * *

“Remus!” Sirius calls out, tripping on the stone step right outside the door of the little yellow cottage, like he does single every time. “Fuck, Merlin.” He recovers. “Remus! They’re all coming tomorrow! Peter and Wanda and James and Lily. And Harry! We’ve gotta prepare! Quick, what foods do newborns like? Blueberry pie?”

Remus raises his head from where he’s kneeling in the soil, picking the blueberries from the lower branches. _Gardening looks good on him_ , Sirius thinks, for what feels like the millionth time.

“Sirius, we’ve discussed this,” Remus calls back, shielding his eyes with one hand. “For the hundredth time, Harry’s only two weeks old. I think Lily will have feeding him covered.”

Sirius saunters over to the small vegetable garden. He surveys the healthy tomatoes, rows upon rows of blueberries, eggplant, and summer squash. Herbs line the windowsills of the little cottage outside of town that they’ve chosen. Sirius had wound up with a surprising amount of money between the Black and Malfoy families, who had been stripped of their wealth, and he’d bought the cabin pretty much as soon as it came on the market.

It was close enough to James and Peter, but far enough outside of town that full moons were easier to deal with, although there were new studies about a new potion that might make it so that they wouldn't need to run in the woods to keep Remus from hurting himself. Sirius subscribed to _Potions Weekly_ just to keep tabs on it, although Remus seemed to think it was a load of rubbish.

Remus bends back down, elbows digging into the soil as he tries to peer under the leaves for any rogue blueberries.

“Rem.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “We’ve only got about a million blueberries. I don’t think you have to get every one. Leave some for the birds.”  
  
Remus scoffs as he crawls forward a bit more. “The birds are our enemies, Pads. Every blueberry they grab in their greedy little beaks is—ah! Shit.” He sits up suddenly.

Sirius’ pulse quickens. “What is it?” He steps forward, crowding Remus in the narrow aisle between the blueberry bushes. “What happened?”

Remus is examining his finger. “It’s nothing, just a bee sting, I think—Sirius, would you knock it off? I’m fine.”

Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, then wags a finger at Remus, smirking. “Nuh uh, I will not. You know the rules.”

It’s Remus’ turn to roll his eyes now. “Sirius. I don’t think a bee sting counts as—”

“Not up to you,” Sirius half sing-songs joyfully as he kneels down in the dirt with Remus, taking the finger and examining it carefully. “I seem to remember a very tearful, extremely serious promise being made not even a year ago by one Remus John Lupin to a certain Sirius Black.” He finishes examining the finger and looks back up, imitating Remus’ voice. “Sirius, I will always, so long as I live, to my dying day, allow you to care for me whenever and however you see fit. I will inform you always of any injury to my person—”

“Yeah, mate,” Remus mutters. “Exactly how I remember it.”

“To the letter,” Sirius agrees. “So we agree that it is in my purview, as your forever-appointed protector, to care for this grave injury?”

Remus sighs. It sounds long-suffering.

Sirius ignores him and pecks him on the cheek. “Excellent. Then let’s go inside and put some ice on this, and you can help me plan the menu.”

Remus smiles crookedly at him and kisses Sirius back. “Fine.”

Sirius helps him up and they walk into the little yellow cottage together.


End file.
